


Legacies

by SmolSpideyBoi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Avengers Tower, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Everyone is a good bro, Hydra (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Is Not Helping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:30:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolSpideyBoi/pseuds/SmolSpideyBoi
Summary: Everyone has a legacy to look up to, and one day uphold.And some are more ominous than others.And Dominic has terrible legacies to be burdened with.She has Hydra's legacy.She has her father Loki's legacy: she will have the power to destroy the world- or save it.She has her other father's legacy: the archer in New York.and she has her own legacy: full of death, sacrifice, revenge, and horrors.But in a world of magic, monsters, and men, will she be able to find her own way? Or is she destined to be the killing machine Hydra made her be?But in a world of magic, monsters, and men, will she be able to find her own way? Or is she destined to forever be the killing machine Hydra made her be?





	1. Prologue : Little God, Little Killer

She stepped lightly over the numerous bodies on the blood-splattered floor. Calculating grey eyes survey the area for any signs of life. She hears a cough come from the corner and whipped around, gun at the ready. The bloodied man sneered at her and started speaking, no mocking her in German "They will never let you go. Everywhere you go, you will be hunted, you will live in constant fear looking over your shoulder. They will find you little god, and when they do, you will wish that your father had never sired you."

She stares down at the man with her cold, emotionless eyes, crouches down, raises the gun to his forehead and whispers softly into his ear, lips almost but not quite touching his skin "Let them come. Hydra wanted a killer and now they've got one." She exhales, the warm breath sending shivers down his spine. She cocks back the gun and presses the trigger.

A bang erupts through the eerily quiet room, and she watches a single drop of blood from the hole in the center of his forehead trickle down, leaving a strip of vivid crimson on his otherwise colorless skin. She stands, a slight smirk of satisfaction playing over her lips. 

She turns, movements almost rushed as she exits the room. Walking down grey metallic corridors lighted by flickering fluorescent lights, she kneels by a middle-aged woman pressing a hand over a wound in her stomach. The woman speaks with a hoarse voice full of forgiveness, love and a touch of sadness. "маленький воин, (malen'kiy voin, little warrior) It's time for you to go" "Nyet, I won't. You must come with me женщина-солдат (zhenshchina-Soldat lady soldier). I will not leave you here to die." The older woman caressed the girls face, bloody fingers tracing over a tattooed scar around the eye. "Please" she whispered, hoping her malen'kiy voin would go before they got here. " "Go now, before they come. Now!" The older woman demands a coughing fit causing fresh blood to ooze out between their fingers. "Malen'kiy voin, you must go, for me, I beg of you." The girl sobs, pressing their foreheads together. "For you, zhenshchina Soldat, voin mama, I will go. I will avenge you and babushka ved'ma. I'm sorry for not saving you." She whispers. "Malen'kiy voin look at me, I found out your name, the one your father gave you, he named you Saeth, it means arrow in Finnish, he named you for your other father, the archer in New York. Saeth trembles at the mention of her name."Voin mama, thank you, rest now. I must go as you said." Saeth presses a kiss to the older woman's cheek. "Goodbye malen'kiy voin, find your peace out there." Saeth nods, emotion pooling as an endless, spiraling abyss in her grey eyes. 

She turns the name over in her mind. "Saeth" she whispers, remembering the elderly lady who gave her her first name all she can remember is a single syllable. "dom-?" her mind races Dominic, Dominique, Dom, Domino... "Dominic" she muses "Dominic Saeth is coming for you," she whispers the dead men, taunting the spirits she knew would haunt her.

"The Scythe is coming for you." this time it's neither threat nor taunt, this time it's a promise; a promise to those who had died helping her, protecting her. It was a promise of revenge for them, a promise to make sure their spirits would be able to rest, a promise of who she would become. It was a promise to those who had wronged her, a promise to them that she would get them. But most of all it was a promise to herself, a promise that she would be able to make things right, and then she would disappear when she was done.


	2. To be or not to be (the question of my soul and my heart)

**The Hub: location classified**   
" _What_ do you _mean_ that the mission is _canceled_? We've been preparing for _months_!" the one and only Tony Stark yelled, slamming his fist on to the table. "Watch it Stark, the mission might be canceled but I can still send your ass to Russia on a three-week recon mission. No luxury of any kind. No heat, no designer clothes, no gourmet dinners, no wifi." Tony blanched and closed his jaw with an audible snap. "All," Fury continues "we found was bodies at the base. It was a blood bath, whoever did this knew what they were doing. We're not sure if it was an escaped prisoner or one of Hydra's enemies, all we know is that whoever did this was skilled, and they left a message painted on one of the walls and it wasn't with paint either. As the picture shows, only one sentence: 'The Scythe is coming for you'. We don't know if this was a message for us or perhaps any Hydra agents who went there." Fury whirls and points a finger at the gather Avengers. "Stark, I want you scouring the net for any mention of a 'Scythe' or any other attacks similar to this one, check every crackpot, conspiracy theory site, hack into Hydra and look for mentions of the killer. Romanoff and Barton, I want you two to get suited up. This attack happened in a secluded base close to a small town around 50 miles west of St. Petersburg, Russia. I want you two to see if you can pick up a trail of any kind. Rogers, I want you checking out any suspicious killings here in New York. I also want updates on any old and new vigilantes who have ties to Hydra, Centipede or anything similar. There's also a new suite waiting for you at Fitz-Simmons lab. Banner, stay here and help Stark unless there is a code green." Fury finished. "Did he even breathe through that?" Tony whispered.   
"Did I stutter?" Fury barked "That means now, so move your asses!" Everyone scrambled out of the conference room, doors swinging open in their wake.

* * *

Dom gets on the next ship out of Russia, offering the captain a wad of around 3,000 American dollars. He shows her a small, closet-like room with a cot and a wooden trunk, her home for the next few weeks. His only demand is that she helps around the kitchen, whether it be cooking or cleaning. She makes Borscht for them that night, all of the shipmates crowing with delight at the tangy soup. "A taste of home!" the Captain declares, clapping her on her back. That night in the dark and privacy of her room, she cries, something she hasn't done in a very long time.

She hides her suit and weapons at the bottom of the trunk, covering with the civilian clothes she scrounged from Moscow stores. In the morning she wiggles on thick, soft pants, a bright yellow T-shirt and a warm sweatshirt. when she looks at herself, the bright yellow peeping under her sweatshirt, it feels wrong, to have someone like her, doing the things she has done, wearing a shirt the color of sunshine, happiness and innocence. Ignoring the pangs of an emotion she doesn't recognize or understand stirring in her stomach and bubbling in her throat. She later learns a word for it: _Homesick_. Not for bloodshed, or Hydra. Not for the steel walls and lack of sunlight. No, she's homesick for Baba and Mamochtka. For cold nights, and warm fire. For hot soup and fresh perogies. For soft Russian lullabies, for green eyes and long hair. For the father, she can only just remember. 

That night she wakes up drenched in sweat, and the taste of blood coating her mouth. It was from biting her cheek to keep from screaming. She remembers the day she met her Grandfather with alarming clarity, the ink burned into her face pulsating as if it had just happened, the pain fresh in her mind. Damn Odin, damn them all. The mark was to warn all she met that she was a child of Loki. _Loki-spawn_ , as many had hissed. One day, she would bring them to their knees, watch as they begged for mercy. She had done the same thing, and Odin had _laughed_. Laughed as if a six-year-old begging for the life of her father, for her life itself. That goddamned burn had taken the eye, infection running it's course and blinding her.

In Hydra, there was no room for failure, for imperfections. They had cut that eye out and gave her a cyborg one. It looked completely human, but she knew what it was, the cold metal of it haunting her with every day. It had made her less human in their eyes, and in her own. She managed a weak glamour to cover her eye, but that was almost more than she could manage. People would start to ask questions, and then people would start to disappear. 

She takes a moment to strip off the glamour, her left eye gleaming a deep, but bright emerald as she opens herself to the magic she keeps repressed. Dominic wants so bad to open her palm and watch a flame dance on it, but the training is to deep, her baba's voice speaking to her, echoing back through time. _"Malen'kiy,"_ Baba's gravelly voice chides _"You must never use your magic for fun, or for trivial things. Never. Use it when you can use nothing else, and only then use it sparingly."_

She spends the rest of the night on the deck, staring out at the sea, humming an old Russian lullaby:

_Spi, moy prekrasnyy khoroshiy mal'chik, Bayushki Bayu_

**_Sleep, my beautiful good boy, Bayushki Bayu_ **

_Tikho smotrit luna_

**_Quietly the moon is looking,_ **

_V vashu kolybel'._

**_Into your cradle._ **

_YA rasskazhu tebe skazki_

**_I will tell you fairy tales_ **

_I poyu tebe malen'kiye pesni,_

**_And sing you little songs_ **

_No vy dolzhny dremat' s zakrytymi malen'kimi glazami,_

**_But you must slumber, with your little eyes closed,_ **

_Bayushki bayu._

_**Bayushki bayu.** _

That's all she can remember, but she knows the song is about going off to war, and a mother hiding her grief and helping her son prepare to fight. It becomes her anthem, singing it each time she cannot sleep, humming it as she looks at the moon.


End file.
